Take My Arm
by TemplarWarden
Summary: The War is over. Voldermort is dead. Now all Harry has to deal with is inheriting a marriage to a woman he despises. If this was Sirius's last prank, it's in incredibly poor taste.


Harry Potter was getting married.

The ballroom where he would be tying the knot was done up in ostentatious displays and a sickening amount of frilly cloth. Certainly not what Harry wanted at his wedding but when it came down to it he didn't even care. He had wanted as little to do with the occasion and the girl. as possible and all he requested was being able to invite his own guests. His wife-to-be had grumbled about having blood traitors and mudbloods at her grand creation but relented.

It wasn't Ginny Weasley that approach approached up the aisle, escorted by only her mother. The red head was sitting in the front row, but Harry tried to avoid looking in her direction not wanting to see the pain in her eyes. He forced himself watch his betrothed approach. He ignored her extravagant white dress the fact she had been dolled up to the point where she was actually attractive. Although the forced smile on her face certainly detracted from that illusion. Neither of them were happy about Sirius Black's last prank.

When Harry inherited everything from his Godfather he had also inherited a marriage contract that used to apply to Draco Malfoy. A magical contract that required him to marry Pansy Parkinson within one year of turning seventeen and unlike other contracts refusal wouldn't result in the loss of magic but the death of both parties. He may have been willing to sacrifice his magic but as much as he hated Pansy he didn't want her to end up dead.

He locked eyes with Parkinson as she stood opposite him at the altar. Beneath the fake smiles for the sake of appearances she glared at him with the usual furor. The official began the ceremony, an old tradition dredged up from the time when inescapable contracts were common place. Harry suspected the girl chose it to appear even more important. As if marrying the boy-who-lived didn't serve wonders in elevating her family to the top of the pecking order, even after Vincent Parkinson was convicted as a Death Eater.

Harry was therefore surprised that the ceremony and vows made no mention of loving or cherishing. Instead it was made very clear to all listening that this match was contracted and the vows were little more than fulfilling the magical requirements, nothing more. He had thought the Parkinson women would play up the situation for the horde of press present, his not being involved would have given them free reign to do so. Perhaps someone else had intervened on his behalf, if so Harry was thankful he didn't have to make a declaration of love to one of his worst enemies.

With the vows complete and both their lives safe from the deadline in two weeks the pair still weren't completely safe. As they stepped down and were set upon by countless reporters. Harry raised his hand to ward his eyes from the flashing cameras. From the corner of his vision he caught Pansy grimace for a moment before a plastic smile reasserted itself.

"What in Morgana's name is this place?!" Pansy snarled, grabbing his arm.

Before them 12 Grimmuald Place loomed, the outside looking as dilapidated as the inside and probably the reason for Pansy's outburst. He had apperated them both from the wedding to where they now stood outside the wards in the Muggle street.

Harry regretted his tactic of avoiding communications with the young woman and her family. It seemed that somewhere in his silence he had inadvertently agreed to let her live with him, she was his wife after all. He shook her off and swept inside. Not even bothering to hold the door for her but she followed him anyway, lifting her white dress from the floor.

"This is my house." He calmly stated, enjoying Pansy's displeasure.

"House? It's a pigsty! Not even the Weasleys would want to live here!" Her voice was shrill and nasally and woke the only other inhabitant.

"More filthy Mudbloods! Disgusting! Staining this house! Dishonouring this family..." screamed Mrs Black, causing Pansy to jump. Harry just smirked at the irony and headed towards the kitchen as the girl responded indignantly.

"How dare you call me a Mudblood!" If anything she screeched louder than the portrait. "You horrid wrinkled old hag!"

The screaming contest continued as Harry found himself what he wanted in the barely stocked kitchen. He wasn't one for alcohol but figured at this point his life couldn't get much worse. He slumped into a chair, still in his dress robes, cursing his Godfather. Not for the first time he felt the pangs of remorse as he wished the old dog was still alive. Sirius would be laughing his head off at Harry's current predicament. Of course that would be matched with a few well placed necessary. Married to a cowardly, despicable Slytherin and not even eighteen went beyond mere pranks.

In the hallway the screaming ending with a resounding thunder. Harry started, wand almost immediately in his hand, completely by reflex. There was silence, amazingly, then the sound of heels approaching.

Pansy stormed into the room. A mixture of smugness and anger on her features. She snarled at Harry, wand in her own hand

"Morgana's sagging tits Potter, what was that... Thing!? Why did you leave me down there!?" Her pitch or volume hadn't changed from downstairs.

"That was the late Mrs Black." He growled, not that he cared for the portrait, just Pansy's attitude. "This is the black home. I inherited it, along with your bloody contract."

Her anger dropped away a little with the shock. Looking around in surprise that the dark, dingy and dirty building. Her face curled up in disgust.

"Figures you let this place go to the dogs," She scoffed. "Must feel like the Muggle squalor you grew up with."

Harry fixed her with a harsh emerald gaze. In reality he had grown up in worse conditions. The space offered by the house, however oppressive, was a far cry from the tiny bedroom of cupboard under the stairs.

"How did you get her to shut up?" He asked.

"The hag?" Pansy tilted her head up, looking smug, twirling her wand in her hand. "Blasting curse. Surprised you didn't think of that."

Harry frowned. He remembered Sirius attempting to remove his mother's portrait. He had even tried and failed after moving in. Obviously blasting Walburga Black from the wall would work, if a little excessive.

"I would have thought you two would get along perfectly. Kreacher won't be happy," Harry explained. Pansy arched a single condescending eyebrow.

"Kreacher?" she asked.

"The old black house elf." Harry's face crinkled in distaste. "If you hadn't blasted his mistress off the wall he would probably be fawning all over you."

Pansy didn't seem to recognize the insult.

"Kreacher!" She called out.

At her beckoning the pathetic house elf appeared on the dining room table. He caught sight of the two and was about to open his mouth and let out a litany of insults and but she spoke first. "Shut up and don't move." Kreacher was compelled to obey, bloodshot eyes glaring at her as he desperately tried to fight her commands.

Pansy smirked victoriously.

"Good. Now I'm your mistress now. Which means you have to get over that dead hag. Understand?" He remained silent. Pansy sighed. "You can speak."

"Kreacher understands filthy Muggleborn mistress."

Pansy made a noise as if being strangled.

"I am not a Mudblood!"

Harry couldn't help but wince. He doubted that this new mistress would be any better than the last.

Pansy made a face, making it clear what she thought of her own suggestion. She had done away with her long hair since the wedding. It suited her shorter. In fact a lot had changed during the three months following their wedding. Under her command Kreacher had actually made the house livable, although they often fought over his treatment. Pansy herself had taken to wearing less extravagant clothing, Harry paid her little attention either way.

"You want me to sleep with you?" Harry asked incredulously. "Not if you were the last woman alive."

Pansy scowled at his phrasing.

"Of course not, but as I am the mistress of the house I should be sharing the master bedroom," she demanded.

"You've been fine with being in different rooms for three months," Harry growled. "What made you change your mind?"

"I got fed up waiting for you to get around to be a responsible husband Potter."

Harry scoffed.

"Fine, you can sleep in the master bedroom. It's not like I care." He turned to leave but she caught his arm.

"Really Potter?" He rolled his eyes. She was as much a Potter as he was, she even milked her status for all that it was worth in public. Yet she still spat the name out as if it was something foul. "You really want word to get out that your wife sleeps alone it your bed."

"So?" He asked, hoping she was bluffing. She smirked.

"So, I'm certain people would be very interested in where, or with who, you spend your nights."

Harry glowered, it had not been the first time she had attempted to blackmail him. Her previous attempts had failed but when she followed through on her threats he discovered that simply because he didn't care about public opinion didn't mean it couldn't affect him. Pansy Potter's rumors showed just why she was placed in Slytherin. They were insidious and stretched far and wide, carefully crafted to be on the edge of truth but completely false and sometimes they weren't targeted at him but his friends.

"Hag," he growled. "I'll clean it out when I have time." Which mean he could possibly delay it a few more months. Maybe his nightmares would have subsided by then, no way he was going to reveal such a weakness to Pansy.

"Kreacher already has," she said, looking smug. As much as she disliked the idea herself she was a proper wife, not to mention it was a victory in yet another disagreement. "See you tonight husband."

He had gone to bed first, having been tired from a day of work. Auror training on top of dealing with his horrendous wife, burnt him out most days. They clearly staked their claims on each side of the bed and keep their backs to each other. It took him a long time to get to sleep and the nightly horrors to assert themselves.

He awoke sweaty and panting, fleeing from the mocking faces of the dead. It took him a moment to get a grasp on himself and the unfamiliar room.

"Nightmares Potter?" Came Pansy's scathing voice from the other side of the bed. Without her make up she looked like a completely different person but Harry could never mistake that voice. The whites of her eyes watching him from where she had rolled other. "Rather pathetic for the man who defeated Voldermort."

"What the Hell would you know about it!" Harry snarled, having already been on edge. "You don't have your dead friends and family haunting your dreams! You haven't seen the horrors I've seen!"

Pansy sat up and glared defiantly. "I know that it's not real Potter." She thrust her upturned nose into his face. "Those people are dead and gone. Those horrors are over. It's all in your head, and if the the brave little Gryffindor is afraid of his own thoughts than I have ever right to call you pathetic!" She turned away, cutting off any angry retorts. Curling up under the sheets with her back to him. Had he paid any attention he would have noticed her form shaking beneath the blankets.

He slipped from the bed, leaving Pansy alone and disappeared into the room that served as an office. The house had changed certainly, he couldn't deny that despite all appearances Pansy was a capable housewife. Or at least capable at directing Kreacher although quite unexpectedly he had seen her working herself from time to time. He could almost tolerate her if not for her stubborn espousing of old Pureblood beliefs.

"Where the hell were you?" Pansy growled, she had her arms crossed and was only wearing a simple black nightie. Her hard features were set and unrelenting. Over the months they had grown tolerant of each other's presence and, as was evidenced, even comfortable in various stages of undress.

"Out," Harry responded, attempting to pass her. Her hand shot out, as always, gripping his arm and spinning him around to face her. He stared her down, unfazed by her accusatory gaze and irritated by the lateness of the hour and her attitude. "I said I was out. Since when do you care?"

"I care when it involves me," She snarled, her voice low and dangerous. "Who was she? The Weaslette?"

Harry's glare gave way to shock then back to a smouldering anger. "For your information Ginny is still in Hogwarts, so I couldn't possibly be seeing her. Besides if I was going to cheat on you I would have started long ago."

With the reflexes that kept him alive for so long Harry caught her wrist in mid-slap.

"Bastard!" Pansy cried. "Let go!" She struggled against his far stronger grip until he pinned her firmly against the wall.

"Do you really think I would stoop that low?" He lent in close, Emerald eyes glinting. "Just because that's what you would do that doesn't mean I would. Even if I hate you I at least value what marriage is."

"Then you have a piss poor way of showing it Harry," she spat out. "You could at least look at me as if I'm a woman." Her arms were pinned to the wall but she pressed forwards into her husband's face, eyes fiery and defiant.

Looking into those eyes caused something to boil over in Harry, although he would would blame the single fire whiskey he had that night. He kissed her, almostly violently. A stunned moment passed before she was kissing him back with a rough and fiery passion, vying for dominance. Harry released her from where he had her trapped and in response his wife surged forward. She gripped his clothing so tightly it almost tore as over a year of pent up emotions poured out. They surfaced to catch their breaths.

"Merlin I hate you Harry," gasped Pansy, her cheeks flushed red.

"I hate you too Pansy," Harry managed to respond, hardly aware that at this point words were meaningless. Together they staggered almost drunkenly towards the nearest soft surface and wound up sharing their first time on the couch.

Harry watched smiling as his wife cradled their sleeping newborn. Despite her haggard and tired appearance Pansy's dark eyes were alight with joy and the edges of her lips curled up with bliss. It was vision that etched itself into his memory and could undoubtedly fuel every Patronus he would ever cast from this day on.

He was brought out of his thoughts as a hand tiredly snaked out and caught his arm. Pansy gaze had latched to his and she pulled him down weakly. He leant down until his lips brushed lightly against hers, like a feather.

"Merlin I hate you Harry," she whispered. He knew she didn't mean it.

"I hate you too Pansy," he said. She knew it was a lie.


End file.
